


Good Wife

by johnliplickingwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, M/M, POV Sherlock, Post-Season/Series 03, Smut, blowjob, it has a happy ending because I can't do sadness, mention of John/Mary, there is enough sadness in the world already so these two deserve to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5571973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnliplickingwatson/pseuds/johnliplickingwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiya there! This is my very first fanfic, so all criticisms are welcomed (please don't go into this expecting it to be good!). This fic is inspired by Mika's song Good Wife, because the first time I heard it all I could think about was how perfectly it fits being a song from Sherlock to John. And although the song doesn't have a happy ending, I have made one here because I am smoll. <br/>The song can be heard here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KX9uV5y0dJ8 and the lyrics can be found here: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/mika/goodwife.html (SEE, PERFECT FOR THESE GAY BABIES)<br/>This is post Mary and John's breaking up, his first night back at Baker Street, after she's told him the baby isn't his. In this, it is necessary for her to be pregnant after the honeymoon (sorry!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Wife

**Author's Note:**

> I know that not everyone likes smut so I have put a big asterisk at a point where, if you read up to that all you get is some kissing and a nipple being touched and the word fuck, so I hope that maybe if smut isn't your thing, this will be ok? I might turn this into a series with more sex and fluff, but only if this is good which it is likely not and ahhhh....  
> ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy this, and hopefully I will grow as a writer and maybe write some more stuff another time.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at kissmywatson, and I always like chatting so come on over and say hey if you need someone to talk to. Have a beautiful day sunbeams! xo

Have you ever met someone who feels as if they are wronged at every turn? No matter how good life gets, it will always be destroyed? This is what I see of one John Watson MD as he sits now on the sofa in Baker Street, which used to be his home. I must admit that I am partially to blame for this current dejection that etches itself upon his features.

_Broken in tears with the weight of the world on his shoulder…_

He has sat for an hour now in silence, slumped over into himself with tears slipping out of his open eyes; once clear deep blue, not dissimilar from deep ocean, now clouded and glazed over. This is simply not tolerable. I am the strange one, the quiet one, the one who makes other people feel uncomfortable, at odds. Yet it is he that is causing a disturbing uneasiness to crawl across my skin like smoke, and a sick feeling to turn in my stomach.

“John,” I venture to whisper, “John?”

His eyelids flicker, almost spasming, and he slams a fist into the arm of the sofa. The whiskey he had poured himself upon entry tumbles from his side, spilling on the cushion and tumbling to the floor.

_Got a two seater sofa and some whiskey…_

His eyes fall down to the floor with the glass, then flash up to meet mine. There is a burning pain in them, but it is not that which makes me recoil. His eyes are full of questions I cannot begin to answer, though I yearn to.

“John…”

“ _How_ , Sherlock? Hmm? How did you, of _all_ people not see this coming? _Jesus_ ,” he rakes a trembling hand across his face and softly shakes his head.

I read his muted “I’m sorry” across his lips, and it stirs me to action.

“ _No_ ” I can hear my voice shake embarrassingly, but he must see… “It is not for you to apologise John, the fault is entirely mine. You are right, I should have seen but I disregarded the obvious out of deference to your feelings for her. I thought you would have known, for you are smarter than the general populace and frequently prove yourself to be of good judgement and-”

“Sherlock.” I realise I am pacing wildly, somehow I left my chair. John’s warm hand enclosed around my wrist pulled me to a halt. I stare at it, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. “You _couldn’t_ have seen. Don’t blame yourself,” his voice shakes with soft laughter, “if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“John-” I start to protest, but he holds up his hand for silence. I realise that he needs to speak about this, to let it all out. I sit beside him on the sofa and angle slightly towards him, burning all down the left side of my calf, which is pressed against his right.

“I should have guessed…every day on our honeymoon she disappeared for two hours or so, coming back and saying she’d been to town, swimming, getting a massage… _shit_ …”

_Says his wife’s left to live with some idiot she only met two months ago…_

“D’you know, Sherlock? I didn’t even want to marry her, after you came back. I never loved her the way-”

He sucks all the air out of the room. I cannot breathe; I want to offer comfort, but I cannot find the words.

_Let’s not talk about it, rest your head upon my shoulder…_

He smiles up at me, and I fall into fathomless lagoon eyes, and starved of oxygen I cannot express the screaming inside of me.

_I wish I could tell you, that if it was me I would be a good wife, I would never doubt you, ours would be a good life, and we could be better than so many…_

“Sherlock…oh, God, Sherlock…”

A tear slips from his eye, and he raises a trembling hand to brush through my hair.

“Sherlock…” he sighs, and I tremble.

_I’m so tired, you can see, I could love you simply, wouldn’t leave if it were me…_

“Yes” I manage to whisper, just before his lips crush mine.

Oh.

_Oh._

_My love will never run away like the sunshine…_

And then my internal monologue deteriorates to _JohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohn_ …

His hands are everywhere, one thumb pressed against a peaked nipple, fingers tangled in my curls, pulling my head to his. Yes, John.

“Oh Goddddddd” I hear myself croon. His lips suck in air and puff out a chuckle, warm, honey and whiskey scented on my face.

“Sherlock, I want to…I want everything but…but I have to be sure, before I do anything I might…regret…” he pauses, hooks a finger under my jaw and lifts my eyes to his. My stomach swims, struggling to digest ‘ _regret_ ’. I’m backpedalling, this lexical choice in direct disagreement with the evidence before me – his dilated pupils, the colour highlighting his cheekbones, his pulse vibrating through his skeleton and onto mine.

“Jesus, Sherlock, not _regret_ like…no, shit. I only meant that maybe…maybe if you didn’t want to, umm…y’know…”

“Fuck?” I offer.

His pupils dilate further, which had previously seemed impossible. He swallows thickly and his tongue swiftly wets his lips before he continues.

“Yeah,” he acquiesces with a soft laugh, “…if you didn’t want to, we could wait because…”

“What kind of rebound would I be if I didn’t allow you to fuck me?” I whisper, and lower my head, feeling traitorous wetness clinging to my lashes.

John pulls up straight, away from his position inclined towards me and I can almost hear him thinking.

“No, _shit_ , Sherlock, can’t you see? You must be able to see?”

I lift my head and allow our eyes to meet; mine full of trepidation and curiosity, his full of sadness and joy – we are such paradoxes.

“You could never be the rebound, Sherlock. _She_ was the rebound from _you_.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Sherlock? Please don’t cry, Sherlock.” His request alerts me to the fact that the moisture around my lashes has fallen and is rolling down my cheeks. But it also alerts me to the fact that he is crying, which pulls a joyful laugh from between my lips.

“You,” I whisper, and we both offer breathless giggles, “ _you_ don’t cry…”

And then I pull his lips to mine.

*

All around me there is both white noise and symphonies, silence and fireworks. My blood wants to leave my body and mingle with his until we are both one person. It is as if he can read my mind – he bites my lip, and swathes away the blood with his delicious pink tongue, so I capture it and suck on it lightly, making him moan low in his throat.

“Sh’lock, bedroom, _ah_ , **now** ,” I feel strong arms pull me up by my shirt front and drag me to the bedroom, and we only pause this kissing addiction for one second when he looks up at me before crossing the threshold, asking permission.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I murmur and push him over it and onto the bed.

I descend on him like a cat, rubbing into him and nuzzling his chest before capturing his lips. We undulate like waves.

I press my erection to him and am stunned to feel his own answering mine with a thrust upwards. We growl in unison, sudden frustration at the layers and layers of clothes between us.

“Sherlock, clothes, off” he mutters and begins to unbutton my shirt. All of time slows, till we are moving at a snail’s pace; clothes falling off softly, fluttering to the ground, until they are all gone.

I take a moment to enjoy the sight of John below me, his strong tan body bathed only in the dim afternoon light that breaks through the partially closed curtains of my bedroom, his neat hips framed by my pale thighs.

“Beautiful” he whispers, stroking my face.

“You took the words right out of my mouth” I smirk hazily.

This is not how I dreamt our first time would be, not that I ever dared think it would ever happen, simply that I imagined it hurried and desperate. But it is done perfectly, as is everything that John Watson puts his name to. Desperation is sweet in the air around us and want builds to a fierce crescendo inside of me. The scant air passing between us is electric and magnetic and on fire and all my brain can think of is how _cliché_ this is. But there is simply no better way to describe it, which infuriates my brain for half a second before he pulls me down to him again, this time latching his tongue onto my oversensitive nipple. I arch into him, and his mouth falls away in a gasp as our cocks touch.

“ _John…_ ”

I scramble over him, heading for my bedside cabinet where there is lube, which (un)fortunately, leaves my dripping cock over his face. I immediately hold regret (and simultaneously rejoice) for this move, and his tongue flicks the sensitive slit, before wrapping warm lips around it, and sucking.

“John, _ah_ , John…”

His deep chuckle vibrates around my head, and I damn near faint. After only a few minutes, I force myself to pull away, and take in the sight of a gloriously debauched John Watson, with some of my precome on his eyebrow and some more causing a shine to his parted lips, pulled up in a mischievous grin.

“John, it’s been…a while since…and well, if you don’t stop that this will all be over very soon…”

This only serves to raise his confidence levels and his blush, and he crawls across the bed to me, pulling my hips down until I am laid out below him.

“Sherlock” he nuzzles into my neck “mine.”

“Oh yes, _God yes,_ John, all yours, always yours.”

I feel my own lips mirror his predatory smile, and the small part of me that was frightened of rejection falls away, and I crush my lips to his, capturing my prize.

“Fuck me”

“Oh God, yes”

He spreads my thighs wide, slicks a finger with the lube I had retrieved, and begins fingering me, in time with our kissing and rutting. It is frantic and desperate and sweaty, but beautiful and perfect and not-at-all-rushed. His fingers stretch me, and I hiss in pleasure, closing my eyes and revelling in the burn.

“ _Now, John_ ” I hear myself croak out.

A moan comes from his throat where my lips are now latched around his Adam’s apple, making my lips tingle. I move them to the soft flesh on his unmarred shoulder, and suck a bruise there as he slowly pushes into me.

“ _Jesus,_ Sherlock, so tight, _ah_ , so hot, beautiful, beautiful”

He has been still for too long, I am not fragile. I grind myself down on him, pulling him even further into me, and he begins to move.

“Harder John, _please_ , ohhhhhhhhh…”

“Yes, _yes_ , Sherlock, mmmmm…”

I hear him repeating my name over and over with the use of words like “amazing” and “gorgeous”, which helps build the frequency of the rolling waves within me until –

“ _Ah, JohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJoh-_ ”

And what I hear as I come, as I feel him spill inside of me, both breaks and mends my heart;

“Sherlock, _my Sherlock_ , perfect…”

It takes a while for me to come back down from the delicious high of my orgasm, but when I do I revel in the smells of sweat and sex and John that permeate the air. He is smirking next to me, looking exhausted, glowing, pleased, proud, beautiful…

“Hello,” I whisper.

“Hi, gorgeous” he winks. He runs a hand through the cooling mess on my stomach, and the mess around my hole, before using his t-shirt (that had somehow made its way to the bedside lamp) to clean us both up. I make a reminder to self to not allow him to wash that – it is the first mingling of our DNA and I want to keep it forever. Ah, _sentiment_. I always was on the losing side when it came to John, but I guess that also puts me on the winning side.

“Stop thinking so hard, and come here,” he pulls me down to his chest, and allows me to snuggle.

“John..?” I venture after about a minute of silence.

“Mmhmm, love?”, and I can tell he is close to sleep.

“We are made up of so many perfect paradoxes, you and I, John.” He chuckles and kisses my head.

“I love you too, Sherlock.”


End file.
